More Than a Dress by Julia Johnson

More Than a Dress

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I was walking past a store window when this color caught my eye. It was a subtle yellow. It wasn’t the type of yellow that made you want to shield your eyes; it was the kind of yellow that made you think of lemon squares. Not the store- bought kind though, the ones made out of scratch, the ones that you pour your whole heart into. It was a dress, an exquisite dress. I stopped in front of it, just staring. It was blanketed with a layer of lace. Someone would have to look very closely in order to see the fine details of the design.

There was this overwhelming feeling that washed over me when I looked at it. It was like I somehow knew who this dress was. A faint memory painted itself, using watercolors, in the back of my mind. I could just barely make out the face of a person. There sun was peering out from the background. A glimpse of an arm. A few fingers.

I peered closely at the fabric. The neckline wasn’t completely covered in lace, instead there were slopes. Several sections of white pattern swooping down, up, and down again, the yellow acting as a backdrop. Then at the bottom, the lace skated past the hemline.

There was something about the essence of the dress that gave off an aura of the 1950’s. When I looked at the dress, I imagined a woman cooking dinner for her family, having midday tea with her friends, and writing down all her thoughts in a leather bound notebook.

In the watercolor, I was beginning to see hints of brown hair. A grayish green color where the left eye should be placed. I could tell it was a girl, but I wasn’t sure who she was, or why she was there.

The designer of the dress crafted the piece eloquently. It had a sweetheart neckline and no sleeves. The bodice of the dress led to a flowy ending, where women had the freedom to dance around as they pleased.

It was a classy dress. Old fashioned. There weren’t many people who could pull it off in the twenty-first century, but the ones who could must have poise or at least an old soul.

I took one last look at it, basking in all its glory before I left.

I walked away with this feeling in my gut, telling me to look back.

Turn around.

There was one more thing that I noticed.

The mannequin was wearing a string of pearls. A one of a kind addition to the already unique dress. It will be a challenge to future shoppers to find a dress like this one.

It wasn’t until I noticed the white beads that I understood the painting.

It was a painting of you.

You in your happiest state.

You as my best friend.

The you that I met in high school, through all the drama and the craziness.

You were always sane.

You are the dress I saw that warm, sunny afternoon.